


The Strange Case of Mr.Carter

by Swapder



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Attempted Murder, Dark Magic, Drug Addiction, Gen, Magic, Magic and Science, Magic-Users, Major Character Injury, Maybe more tags if they come up, Murder, Science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-01-23 02:56:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swapder/pseuds/Swapder
Summary: A friendly and successful magician, William Carter wishes for the world to be a place without evil.When his friend Wilson Higgsbury allows him to test a strangedrugconcoction supposedly to do just that, his desire starts to shift to something different. He becomes enamoured with the magical mixture and makes a poor decision.Meanwhile, his assistant grows concerned with her friend’s strange behaviour.One day, Wilson gets a knock of his door.
Relationships: Maxwell & Illegal Activity, William & Charlie (platonic), William & Wilson (platonic)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. A Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Strange Case of Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/532081) by Robert Louis Stevenson. 

It was one in the morning. It was one and there was this damn knocking on the door.  _ Knock knock knock knock _ — It was a desperate sound.

It wasn’t as if he’d been asleep prior to it; he was wide awake down in his living room with a worn book in his hands. The sound stirred him from his absent reading. His head turned.

_ Knock knock knock knock _ — He set the book down and got up to open the door. Outside with a rushed appearance and a fist risen for another round of knocking stood a woman. Wilson blinked at her when relief washed down her like a waterfall. A squeak hardly left him before he’s yanked down to stare at the panicked face of Charlie.

“You have to help him!”

“What? Who? Miss Charlie please calm down!”

“You’re a doctor right?!”

“A student, yes,” Wilson’s heart quickened. Whatever could Charlie be here so early for? He hadn’t seen her in quite a few days, “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you get a professional?”

“I can’t trust them to not tell. There is something wrong with William.” Charlie let his collar go and sent the man falling forward unbalanced. He caught himself on his doorway. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, a small croak in his voice and furrowed eyebrows. There was a worry growing in him, a worry for his friend.

“‘M not sure.” She admitted, antsy on her toes and staring at him with fear.

“Miss Charlie...” Wilson began hesitantly. He took a breath, patted her shoulder reassuringly, and left the safety of his home, “Let’s head off, then?”

Charlie nodded and lead him away.

Neither said a thing as they walked through the trees into town. Not a sound was made but the stepping of shoes and a knocking on a door.

The wood door wasn’t responded to. Another knocking but no one came. A jangle of keys told Wilson to stay behind Charlie. She twisted the key into the lock before pushing the door open with a pause.

“He’s locked in his room.”

“You’ve spare keys for his house?”

“Please, Mr Higgsbury...”

“Yes, yes. Er, so you say he’s been in there— for how long?”

“Few days. Three at most. We’ve missed a show. He’s scaring me.” Charlie stumbled carefully into the room and looked around. 

The entrance and the front room were as tidy as ever; regardless of his absence William had been maintaining his home. On the nearby table sat an unattended cup and a kettle. Wilson wandered over, picked up the cup and looked in to see dry coffee grains. He showed it to her, “Did you try to make this?”

“...I don’t drink coffee.” Charlie stared at him as if he’s avoiding the point. 

“Well, he  must have been quick to lock himself in.” Wilson set down the cup and walked through the front room to the hall. He paused in front of the second door. He pointed to it as he back to Charlie, “His room?“

She quickly nodded. He took it as it is and knocked on the door loudly. He turned back to it and waited. No response. He frowned after a moment before knocking again, “William? Are you awake?”

He briefly considered,  _ Perhaps Charlie has overreacted.  Maybe he left for a holiday without saying anything. _

He was corrected quickly when the sound of shuffling and moving blankets came from the room. A voice inside replied, “...I am.”

“Oh!” Wilson didn’t expect a reply.He perked up some before falling into small talk, “Are you well? Miss Charlie’s said she’s worried for you, and so am I.”

“I am. I... I am merely sick.”

Something seemed off with William’s voice. Wilson attuned it to the said sickness. He hummed in thought, “Do you mind if I come in?”

“ ** _NO!_ ** ”

Wilson jerked away from the door from the unexpected shout. He stepped back and glanced back to Charlie. She looked even more concerned, shifting her weight between her feet. Wilson had to steel himself after a pause to approach the door again. William never shouted like that before.

“William?”

“...”

“I’ll leave you alone to rest,” He could feel Charlie stare at him in disbelief, “And I’ll come back later in the morning. ‘Round eight.”

The quiet from the room was deafening. Wilson waited but concluded he wasn’t going to get a response. He sighed before he left the door and walked away from it.

“You’re going to leave him?”

“I can’t do anything now.” He pulled out a pocket watch and checked it, “It’s 2 in the morning. He’ll feel better by eight.”

“Are you sure?”

“I hope I am.”


	2. Reflect

Time flew with the combination of sleep deprivation and worry. Suddenly it was eight. 

Wilson hurriedly made himself presentable. More so than that morning, now that people in town were actually out. It was when he was brushing his hair that it crossed his mind. He paused and stared in the mirror as a frown grew across his face.

It was a thought spurred when he remembered an experiment he had done a year or so prior. He had to shake his head. He moved his hand again to brush his hair once more.

Could... Could his friend have been a thief?

The door slammed behind him when he left his house that day.

_Knock knock_—

“William?” He wished he had a key like Charlie. It would make this much quicker and he wouldn’t have to stand outside waiting.

The knocking was actually responded to. A hand cracked open the door and a familiar face peeked out. A green eye looked down on Wilson. He paused.

“...It is twenty-seven past eight.” The tall figure said without fully opening the door.

“Er, I didn’t realise you thought exactly eight.”

The door opened as William stepped back, “Come in. Quickly, please.”

So he did. Wilson walked past and saw the place the same as that night but gone was the cup and kettle. There was a couple papers and a fountain pen on the table instead. William closed the door behind Wilson and locked it with a loud click. His lavender satin suit reflected the sunlight from the window, even with the obvious signs of little care.

“You wished to talk?” He says.

“Oh, yes. I did!”

Wilson quickly took a seat in one of the chairs by the table. William followed to sit in another, anxiously watching Wilson. His hair hadn’t been brushed, Wilson realised. It matted to his forehead with sweat and time.

“You’re concerning both Charlie and I.” Wilson began, “And... I have a silly little idea of why. Just a small one.”

He waited as if he would get some objection or sign to continue. William stared at him the same as before.

“I thought maybe, er, well... You maybe have been using the p— the mixture. You know, the one that went wro—“

“No.”

“What?” Wilson’s eyes fluttered as if to wake himself from a dream.

William’s static and exhausted staring had changed to a glare and violet eyes. He wrote the oddity off as the suit reflecting off William’s glasses.

“I have not touched it.” He said dangerously close to a growl, “I have not used any of it since... Since. I have not.”

“Calm down.” Wilson leaned back in the chair as far as he could get. There was something unsettling about that reflecting violet.

A realisation passed over William and his glaring turned to one of horror. The shift of expression must have been enough for the reflection to pass. He lowered his head as if ashamed, “Apologies Wilson... Could we please talk about anything but?”

“I— I really think we _should_ talk about this if you don’t want to. You have used it recent-er than those experiments, haven’t you?” 

“Wilson.” William’s voice gained a warning edge.

“Did you steal it? Are you why it disappeared?” He grew accusatory as he scooted slightly closer to the edge of the chair. His voice seemed to crack but he thought he heard wrong, “You told me I misplaced it; that I simply lost the entirety of them besides my first record.”

“Wilson stop it.”

“Did you _lie_ to me?” He was hurt by the mere implications.

William was looking back up at Wilson with his head tilted down still. The angle made him almost menacing, even with how soft the magician usually looked. The violet was back. Wilson payed it no mind. He knew now it wasn’t the suit and light.

He started to almost beg, “You have to stop using it, William. You have to get rid of it. You can’t have it around. It’ll keep tempting you, nothing about it suggests anything good.”

“I believe it is time for you to leave, Wilson.” William said. His fingers had clamped around the chair’s arm and dug into the fabric.

Wilson’s heart stalled as he realised he failed what he hoped he could do. “Please William. That magic does you no good, it’s ch—“

“Higgsbury if you do not leave yourself, I will not be responsible for what happens next.”

Wilson shut up. He took a deep breath as he stood up and checked his watch, “Eighteen to. I wish you best of luck... Until we meet again.” He left the home with those eyes on him.

When he got home he collapsed into his couch and dropped his head in his hands, “Oh sweet science, what have I done?”

He spent a long while like so before forcing himself up to search his home. He hopes for some scrap of the past besides the first record, something more than just a recipe for disaster. He fell asleep on his desk unaccomplished.

The next morning the papers were titled, ‘Local french performer beaten to death by assailant’ and a description of the murderer in question. 

Wilson wished he knew not who it was.


	3. Written Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost things aren’t always truly lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was shockingly troublesome to write.  
I’ve never had to write so deep in Wilson thoughts, and to me he is a man who will put pen down for every little thing he thinks. Even irrelevant things.
> 
> Don’t Starve doesn’t have very stable history accuracy. I used this to my advantage just a little.

_Jul. 30, 1920,_   
_Friday evening._   
_William has handed me his spooky black book, and asked me to help. It’s very soft to pet and the cover is actually make of silk velvet, not leather like I thought, and the spine is embroidered with grey stitching. _   
_I’m quite excited to see what he has asked me to decipher for him!_

_Aug. 1, 1920_   
_Sunday morning._   
_Those language classes I took in university are actually being useful, the entire thing is mostly Latin. The entries closer to the end are more old English and eventually one or two may be proper English, but I can’t seem to find an actual end of the book. Even the pages are easy to lose if I don’t put a bookmark to them. It’s strange._

_Aug. 2, 1920,_   
_Monday afternoon._   
_I’ll give the book back. I can’t stand the thing, it’s been giving me the chills and bad feelings ever since I touched it! It’s almost incomprehensible and gotten worse the more I read. I have such a headache._   
_It goes against everything science, going on about Magic! Dangerous Magic, if Magic were real._

_...I’m curious. I want to know more. Something tells me I’m not suppose to have it, not suppose to be the one using it. So, I won’t do any of the things in it that maybe work. _   
_I’ll ask William if he wants to help, so he can learn to read his book._

_Aug... 5? 6? 7..? 1920,_   
_I haven’t slept. I don’t know what time or day it is. My curtains are drawn closed, but it’s still too bright. William tells me I must take care of myself and rest._   
_But I won’t do such a thing just yet._   
_We found something very interesting in the book. Chemistry! Something truly science-y, and my expertise._   
_One of them looks very promising and easy to obtain the ingredients for. It was called ‘Laetitiam Euphrosyne, Benedictionem’, which means something along the lines of ‘Euphrosyne’s Blessing’. I don’t know who that is, but I imagine whomever wrote the book believed in them though._   
_William suggested I try making it. What a brilliant idea!_

_Aug. 9, 1920,_   
_William gave me his calendar to borrow. I think it’s Monday? The calendar says so, he marks off the days. Evening._   
_I finally gotten it ready to test. It’s taken quite some <strike>explos</strike> tweaking, but it’s nevertheless promising! <strike>Maybe afterwards I can submit it to the scientific community and they’ll finally take me seriously?</strike> But, it’s nearly midnight and seven days lack of rest has taken a toll on me. I suppose I need a test subject for it, perhaps myself? A true scientist should probably use themselves for any test, right? _   
_...Right..?_

_Aug. 10, 1920, _   
_Tuesday afternoon._   
_This is an extremely delicate situation and I worry for William. He offered to be the test subject when I was telling him of the success and gave him his book back (He ripped out the appropriate page for me to keep). I’m not certain it’s safe. Even after protest— Mentioning how I could use those rats I’ve seen in the attic— he refused to hear it. Something about his book and this suggestion of his coming to fruition perhaps? I think that’s why he so badly wants to try. I convinced him to wait until tomorrow for me to... ‘work out the kinks’. A lie of course, but a small white one!_   
_Funny thing. I could have swore I saw his shadow move on it’s own. I need to sleep._

_Aug. 11, 1920, _   
_Wednesday afternoon._   
_It’s currently 4pm, and I am to record the effects of the <strike>watery thing</strike> mixture. I gave William the beaker, and he’s just waiting for me to finish writing. My strongest hope is that it doesn’t kill him and that it’s not too much to give health issues. Too little would be the preferable of the mistakes. I wonder how I’d know it was too little?_   
_The colour of the liquid is green, and it gives off a strange shimmer. There’s some vapour coming off it— smoke is a better choice of words now that I consider it. Smelling it before told me that it smelt bad. Like burnt up poppy seeds and chemicals, fittingly. I haven’t tasted it yet, of course. It moves like water, so I imagine it’s easy to swallow. I see William is growing a bit impatient, so I’ll give him the good to go._   
_He‘s drunk it. Says it tastes rather bitter. Strange, I don’t think this is—_

_**Something went wrong. At this moment I am trying** my best to **keep** my hand stable and the ink **from** smudging to much. Hardly a moment after **William had told me of it**’s taste, he had started coughing and doubled over. What happened after **was**... **horrific to say the least**. _   
_His very physical self— physique, that’s the word— seemed to change, though he looks vaguely the same **it’s not quite**.** H**e seems to have lost some height. He’s almost... evil looking. Devilishly so. If hurts my soul to look at him. I could swear he doesn’t have a shadow. I don't believe in the supernatural, however. It must be the lighting. He simply wouldn’t be recognisable as the same person without knowing what I do. His teeth and nails ar**e too sharp, ears too pointed, and his eyes...**_   
_**Somethin**g about that potion must have made it so looking at him brings a terrible feelin**g of disgust, loathing and fear.** I’m not sure where else it could have came from. Nothing he’s ever done would give that sort of hatred._   
_I believe I have regain **my composure enough t**o slow my shaking hand. William is yelling at me for writing so much. He’s quite frustrated for some reason unknown, twitchy and agitated. How strange a sounding voice, similar but different from his original._   
_Especially with how off he’s acting. Not the looking in the mirror thing he’s doing now, that’s not abnormal._   
_Note to self: Rewrite all in separate notebook, don’t let this be sent this way. _   
_I’m running out of ink, perhaps I should write more **later. **_

_Aug. 13, 1920, _   
_Friday morning._   
_I was far too distracted yesterday but now I’ve finally bought more ink. Loads of the stuff, should last me a month or so if my writing trends as per normal._   
_Where was I? William and the experiment._   
_The main things I noticed was how passive aggressive the potion seemed to make him. It could simply be a reaction out of pain, however. So until tonight’s try I’ll have to wait and see. I’m quite surprised, actually. I didn’t expect William to want to continue. Especially after how horribly painful it looked before. I forced him to wait until I had more ink, however. And him have some water and bedrest— I imagine the ordeal was taxing._   
_Perhaps tonight I shall suggest giving a name to the other? For easier writing. Maybe a name for the <strike>poti</strike> mixture too._

_Aug. 13, 1920, _  
_Friday night._  
_‘Maxwell’. That’s the name he wanted to give to the new idea of himself, the way the potion thing made him._  
_I feel as though I’d heard something like this before but I’m not quite sure where._  
_The mixture’s effect so far seems consistent as the same thing happened, William curling over in pain, practically hacking his lungs up, and then turning into ‘Maxwell’. He’s just short enough comparatively that his clothes hang off him a bit funnily. _  
_He does _not_ appreciate me pointing this out._  
_‘Maxwell’ is not the most pleasant of people, I’ve found. The potion affects more than William’s appearance and voice it seems. He’s certainly more confident than William, but arrogantly so. It’s rather annoying._

_Everything he does is so annoying and peeving; It’s like he’s trying to push my buttons! I just had to tell him off for criticising my hair. My hair is a masterpiece, not a rat’s nest like his!_   
_...I don’t think I like ‘Maxwell’. Perhaps this chemical mixture should be left alone. _

_Aug. 16, 1920, _   
_Monday morning._   
_Test subject 2, male, Ejnar. Roughly age 2. Common brown rat, found in the attic with decent enough health for a rodent living up there. Test Subject 3, female, Marie. Around late age 3. Black house rat, also found in the attic with better health than the first. What a lucky rat she is. She’ll be the control for regular rat behaviour. Thankfully both are sickness free. Both named after respectful scientists <strike>that I—.</strike>_   
_I gave both of them baths, they’re surprisingly docile! Both of them now have soft fluffy fur and are as clean as attic rats can be. _   
_They’re so cute!_   
_Currently their only source of liquid is the WM-01 mixture (The potion thing; I find it a good name choice! Very science-y sounding.), three minutes since switch from water. Not a drop drunk, of course. _   
_Goal: Find out if humans are the only ones who respond such as William._   
_Hypothesis: Yes._   
_Perhaps I should make up a better one later when I submit this research?_   
_Ejnar is taking a drink from the mixture! Nothing, my—_   
_...My science headcanon was wrong. Ejnar reacted quite similarly to William. I think Marie is terrified of not-Ejnar. Perhaps, like I had, she feels the evil that WM-01 makes. _

_After feverish biting and rushing about, almost killing Marie, not-Ejnar has finally dehydrated himself to drink the mixture again. I was quick to switch out the potion stuff for now. Perhaps I shall simply test through the week, and write anything different from what I already know._

_Aug. 25, 1920,_   
_Wednesday Afternoon._   
_I think I may be counting wrong, but I could have sworn I had more of the WM-01 stuff? I’m missing more than I should be, even with the toying about and William’s share. _

_Sep. 3, 1920, _   
_Friday Evening._   
_I grow increasingly worried for William now. I’m finding odd things that start to occur with too much use of the drug, side effects I wouldn’t have really expected. Rats and humans may be different enough that perhaps— but the chances are far too great to risk._   
_I seem to have lied when I said I would write anytime something new appeared. At least in this book. I lost the paper I used in the moment, before I could write it here. Thankfully I can remember._

_The longer exposure to the drug (daily use, around 2mL, whereas William drank 25mL.) has caused Ejnar to be the more aggressive version more often. Without drinking the solution. _   
_I first noticed this when I had tried to give him the WM-01 directly with a needle (4mL) to see the differences. I hardly poked him with it when the rat panicked and somehow changed. The darn thing bit me but I managed to put it back, in a separate cage this time. It continued to be affected, for a long while. _

_Damnit, I hope this science is helpful at all. That rat had a nasty bite, and I don’t want to lose a finger._

_Sep. 7, 1920,_  
_Tuesday _early_ morning (I wouldn’t have woken if not for the shrieking!)._  
_Ejnar had been the one making that noise. Or, I suppose I should say, the drug affected version of the rat. So weird! There’s none of that potion stuff anywhere even near the rat, I don’t know how he could be affected! He’s like a rabid animal, panicking a**nd shrieking about madly.** _

_The situation has been fixed for now. I saw the rat attempting to fight Marie and had to drop this, grab not-Ejnar and force the potion down his throat. He’s currently lax and starting to pass out, normal again. _   
_This makes me sick. I’m going to stop giving the poor thing that potion. Perhaps the library will have a book on keeping rats as pets or at least what I could do? The two won’t survive back in my attic and they’ve been such good lab rats._   
_I think I hear something. Glass or something breaking. I need to sleep more... I get sort of crazy when I don't sleep._

_I’m going to need to wrap my hand up and not use it until it heals. It was bitten and scratched at so deep, I might need to call Dr.Hermbrig._   
_Thank stars I can write with my right hand as well, or this experiment would be much harder._   
_What happened to Ejnar doesn’t bode well at all. Changes from pain were bad enough, but waking up as so is just as, if not worse! _   
_I can’t let this stand. I have to let William know and have him stop using it._   
_Maybe he shouldn’t have that book eithe—_

_September 7th, 1920_   
_Higgsbury will not be continuing his studies of this. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be easier and sooner.


End file.
